


The Adventure of the Mazarine Steen

by SCFrankles



Category: Warlock Holmes Series - G. S. Denning
Genre: Community: holmestice, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21511984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCFrankles/pseuds/SCFrankles
Summary: Babysitting a faun, tracking down a possessed waxwork, and trying to retrieve the priceless Crown diamond—it's all just another regular adventure for Warlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.
Relationships: Warlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20
Collections: Holmestice Exchange - Winter 2019





	The Adventure of the Mazarine Steen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writemore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writemore/gifts).



> Written for the [Winter 2019 Round](https://holmestice.dreamwidth.org/556851.html) of Holmestice.
> 
> Here for ease of reference is a link to [The Adventure of the Mazarin Stone](https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Adventure_of_the_Mazarin_Stone) and to its companion piece, the play [The Crown Diamond](http://freeread.com.au/@RGLibrary/ArthurConanDoyle/PoetryDrama/TheCrownDiamond.html).
> 
> Robert / writemore, welcome to Holmestice and I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Thank you as always to my sister for the beta.
> 
> * * *

The papers had been full for days with news of the theft of the priceless Crown diamond from Marlborough House, every development breathlessly reported with increasing embellishment. Holmes and I were involved in the investigation alongside Lestrade and Groggson, and I believed the mastermind behind the burglary to be the unscrupulous but thankfully mundanely human Count Oleander Sylvius. However, definite proof and the location of the stone were proving difficult to attain and it began to look as though the case would never be solved.

Sensing the reading public were losing interest, the press had instead turned their attentions to the waxwork collection on loan to Madame Tussaud's from the Panoptikum museum in Hamburg. This collection contained many famous contemporary figures from the Continent but the jewel in their particular crown was the replica of the beautiful Belgian actress Mazarine Steen, famed for her wonderfully pale eyes and… other attributes. The enthusiastic and multiple articles in the newspapers seemed to have caused a minor waxwork mania, with all of London talking of how they had been and how _marvellous_ it was, or planning a visit with great anticipation. Madame Tussaud's being only a few minutes walk from our home, we were in a good position to witness all of this frenzy at firsthand. 

So it was not a complete surprise when I came back to Baker Street one evening after a long day of following up fruitless leads, to find Warlock Holmes putting the final touches to a waxwork of himself.

Still a fairly large surprise though. 

He looked up and beamed at me. “Ah, John! What do you think?”

I stood and considered the waxwork for a moment. It had been seated in Warlock’s chair by the window that overlooked the street and was clothed in trousers, shirt and dressing gown. Though you would have to squint a little to see the resemblance, it was to be honest a passable imitation of my companion.

“That is rather impressive, Holmes.”

I paused, thinking of Warlock’s history with a certain kind of wax. 

“What… exactly is it made of?”

Holmes frowned at me. “Don’t be ridiculous, Watson! As if I could have harvested enough earwax to make an entire figure of myself!” He waved a hand towards me. “You can take that disgusted look off your face. The modelling material comes in fact from inside the head of a sperm whale.”

The disgusted look stayed right where it was. “I’m not quite sure that’s an improvement.”

“Don’t worry, Doctor!” piped up a youthful voice. “It isn’t spermaceti. It’s beeswax! I saw the packaging.”

A set of horns came into view from between the chair and the window, followed by the fresh and smiling face of the small child currently sharing our lodgings. He finished arranging the dressing gown into aesthetically pleasing folds and then stepped away, revealing a junior version of Holmes’s occasional goat legs. In the child’s case though, the goat legs were very definitely permanent.

“Ah, good evening, young— Um…” I tailed off.

His existence never having even been mentioned before, the young faun had simply appeared in Baker Street one day as our apparent responsibility. After the initial surprise had passed, I had been reluctant to play nursemaid for an indeterminate period of time but Holmes did not seem to feel he would be with us forever. In the meantime the boy was proving to be very useful about the place, and Holmes was relishing playing the avuncular role to young— Um. 

I _did_ know the child’s name. Holmes had whispered it to me at the very beginning of his stay, but speaking it out loud was not a good idea. The little faun was known by a patronymic and if we accidentally summoned his father when he did not want to be... Well, let us just say, there would be more He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-demonium than at the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-optikum waxwork collection. Names can be powerful things. 

Holmes was smiling at my current hesitation. “We’ve decided to use ‘Billy’.”

I involuntarily glanced at the faun’s goat’s legs. The name did not seem in the best of taste. “Oh, very amusing, Holmes.”

Holmes frowned. “Is it? Why?”

I sighed. “No, by saying that I find it amusing, I mean that I don’t find it amusing.”

Holmes looked bewildered. “You’ve lost me, Watson.”

If only. However, the child seemed perfectly content with his new moniker, and thus I moved on.

“So why have you and, er, Billy been making a waxwork of yourself?”

“Ah!” Holmes brightened. He patted the waxwork’s shoulder. “I’m hoping to use it to distract some of the demons who are always demanding my attention. Direct them towards bothering my waxwork instead.”

I frowned. “But surely the demons aren’t attracted to your physical form. They’re attracted to your particular mind and so won’t be fooled because this figure has no brain—” I paused and considered the waxwork’s blank expression. “No, as you were. It might just work.”

“I believe I can already feel the benefit!” beamed Holmes. 

At that point any gains in mental wellbeing were lost because we heard the sound of Mrs. Hudson scuttling up the stairs. Despite his formidable parentage, but still I feel perfectly understandably, Billy found her unsettling and so scrambled to hide under the sofa. With a cheerful cry of: “Ah! Hide and seek!” Holmes joined him. 

Which left me to go and deal with the malevolent pixie. I strode to the door and pulled it open. Mrs. Hudson was standing there with fist raised. Hopefully for an assault merely on the door but one could never be sure. “Can I help you, madam?”

Our landlady stepped over the threshold and thrust a letter at me. “This wuz sent round for yeh.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” I opened the note up. It was from Lestrade, requesting that Holmes and I join Groggson and himself for a direct confrontation of Count Sylvius. I considered this. Was there really anything to be gained from such an action? But was there anything to be lost either? Perhaps under close questioning Slyvius might finally make a mistake and— 

I was roused from my musings by Mrs. Hudson repeatedly thumping my arm.

“Aren’t yeh goin’ to introduce me to your new gen’leman friend?”

I frowned down at her, at a loss as to who she meant. Then I turned and followed her line of sight towards the window. “Oh, for— That is a _model,_ Mrs. Hudson!”

The old bat smirked. “So you and Warlock are takin’ up nude paintin’ now?” She looked hopeful. “I expec’ you'll find it thirsty work. Should I bring up regular cups o’ tea?”

“No! It’s a _wax_ model.” I bundled Mrs. Hudson back through the door and with a last curious look at the waxwork, she thankfully departed.

Holmes and Billy reappeared, and I nodded to Holmes. “Get your coat. We’re going to meet up with Lestrade and Groggson.” I smiled reassuringly at Billy. “And you stay here and have your supper. We won’t be long.”

“And don’t answer the door or invite anyone in!” added Holmes as he struggled into his outerwear. 

Billy nodded with determination, and Holmes and I set off to meet up with the inspectors for a confrontation with the malign genius, Count Sylvius...

Half an hour later we were somewhat anticlimactically back at Baker Street. There had been ten minutes of elegant and sparring conversation between the Count and myself, then he had unfortunately threatened me with a gun, Holmes had instinctively destroyed him with demon-fire and we had all trooped off home or back to the Yard—still not knowing where the Crown diamond was and now never likely to.

I was so downcast as I opened the sitting room door that it took me a moment to realise there was something missing from the scene before me. 

Both chairs by the window were now completely empty. 

“Holmes, where has your waxwork gone?”

Holmes pushed past me and hurried in to check his chair. He spun to face me. “You don’t think Mrs. Hudson has taken it… for her own purposes?”

We stared at each other in mutual horror. 

“What would Mrs. Hudson want it for?” Billy appeared from under the sofa.

Holmes and I exchanged another look. “I think perhaps we’ll leave that conversation for your father,” I said. 

Holmes helped Billy to his feet. “But it was Mrs. Hudson that took it? That’s why you were hiding?”

“Oh, no!” Billy shook his head. “It walked out on its own! Well, not on its own exactly— I mean—” His eyes were very wide. “It was _possessed.”_

Of course. I pointed an accusatory finger at Holmes. “Dear God, you should have known this would happen! Now we’ve got a demon-filled wax Warlock Holmes on the loose.”

“But it wasn’t a demon, Doctor Watson!” Billy waved his arms in nervous excitement. “He said he was your and Mr. Holmes’s nemesis!” 

I stared at the child. I felt sick and faint. “It wasn’t… Moriarty? Oh, Billy. You didn’t invite anyone or _anything_ into the flat?”

Holmes was looking uncomfortable. “Ah, now. The boy may not have needed to.”

I turned slowly back to look at him.

He smiled cautiously. “I made absolutely sure that no demon could use the waxwork as an entry point into our world. But if something wasn’t strictly speaking a demon— An immaterial being would still need Billy’s permission to enter 221B itself but it might be able to reach the waxwork directly from another realm.”

I groaned. “So Moriarty now has his own physical human-like form!”

Holmes walked over to me and patted my arm. “But it is simply a lump of wax, John. There is little he can do to harm anyone directly with it.”

“And it wasn’t Moriarty!” Billy was waving his hands again, trying to get our attention. “He didn’t see me but he did a triumphant, evil monologue anyway! He said you had won this round but it still wasn’t over! _And_ he said his name was—”

Holmes and I reached the realisation simultaneously. _“Count Sylvius!”_

Billy was nodding furiously. 

A smile spread across my face. “Well done, Holmes. This is excellent.”

Holmes looked bemused. “Is it? You’ve changed your tune all of a sudden.”

“It means we’ve got another chance of getting the whereabouts of the Crown diamond out of him!” I rubbed my hands together. “Let’s get back out there and track him down.”

“Yes, indeed.” Holmes considered our young fellow lodger. “But I’d rather bring Billy along with us, just in case the Count decides to come back here.”

I hesitated. “I can understand that. But what about…” I tried to discreetly nod at Billy’s legs and horns.

Holmes looked at me puzzled for a moment. His face cleared. “Oh, of course. It’s a little chilly now and the child needs to be well wrapped up.”

“It’s not _just_ that—”

Holmes waved away my concerns. “I can sort that out.” He looked thoughtful. “And I really need to sort out a disguise for myself as well. Two Warlock Holmeses running about is only going to attract attention.”

I smiled weakly. “You don’t think the fact the Count is made of wax is going to attract attention just of itself?”

However, Holmes had the bit between his teeth. “No, I will sort out new outfits for both of us. I’m… sure I have something in my bedroom.”

There was the briefest flash of green in his eyes and I narrowed my eyes in response. “Holmes, did you just do more magic?”

“I’m just going to check in my room, John!” Holmes hurried off without making any further eye contact. 

When he came back to the sitting room, he was holding Billy’s new clothes but had already changed into his own disguise.

I stared. “Holmes, I _really_ don’t think so.”

Holmes looked down at his outfit. “But why? You’re always going on at me to expand my repertoire of disguises. And I think I look rather splendid.”

I approached him slowly. “Yes, Holmes, it’s a lovely dress. You truly have the figure for it.” I stopped in front of him. “But you are six foot tall! Flat chested and narrow-hipped! With a masculine gait! You can’t fail to attract attention!”

Holmes looked a little sad. “But I’ve got the matching bonnet! And the parasol too…”

I had a feeling this was going to be a long argument and the trail was already starting to go cold. 

“Fine, then!” I took a deep breath. “But in return you must agree to us sorting this out without any more magic. Let us at least try and limit the damage to our world. Help Billy get dressed and then let’s go!”

Steering a newly-possessed wax body was apparently not without its difficulties. I found it quite easy to follow the Count’s trail from minor smears of wax left here and there. And as the three of us walked down the street I found we were attracting very little attention after all. Billy in long trousers, stuffed boots, and a loose knitted cap looked much like any other little boy, and Holmes… Well, apparently people had enough to worry about in their own lives than to concern themselves with a six foot lady with a masculine nose and jawline—despite her uncertain tottering on brand new high-heeled footwear. It seemed to suggest that the Count’s wax Holmes would also have been able to escape detection. 

Not that he had travelled far. Our final destination was quite nearby, and both a surprise and oddly appropriate: Madame Tussaud's.

“Why here…?” I mused.

Holmes jabbed me discreetly with his parasol. “Maybe when the Panoptikum waxworks are sent back to Hamburg, the Count hopes to go with them. So his new body will be over on the Continent and he will be free from the attentions of our police force!”

I shook my head firmly. “The Count is dead. He is now permanently beyond any mortal law. And surely as a spirit he can move wherever he wants in the physical world. And possess whoever or whatever he wants! No, there is something more going on here.”

We went in and made our way up to the ticket office. I was warned by the young lady behind the desk that it was approaching closing time but we were allowed to purchase tickets and passed together into the exhibition. 

Even with my distracted mind I could see the Panoptikum collection was worth all the excitement. The workmanship was truly excellent. 

I was contemplating a figure of that promising young Italian composer Giacomo Puccini when Holmes once again jabbed me with that wretched parasol. “For heaven’s sake,” I whispered. “Just tap me on the arm, can’t you?”

“Yes, John! But look!” Holmes was pointing with the parasol towards a figure lurking in a corner and apparently wearing some sort of flowing belted gown. It was not one of the waxworks. Or rather it _was,_ but not part of the collection. 

The Count!

His full attention was focused on the way ahead. He stiffly staggered forward and began to move away from us. 

I gave Holmes and Billy a nod. Holmes took Billy’s hand and we all followed on at a distance. However, before we could see what the Count was up to, a caretaker strode past us, calling that the museum was about to close. In front of us the Count froze. When the caretaker reached him, he gave the wax figure one brief, bemused glance before shrugging and moving on. 

Holmes beamed. “Watson, we need to hide. And if the Count can do it...”

“But the Count is actually made of wax—!” I attempted to argue but Holmes was already encouraging Billy to hide behind a German oom-pah band. Then he pointed the papasol towards the floor and leant on it with both hands, directing a winsome smile at me. I sighed, but formed a pose of dashing suitor, one hand on my heart—the two of us forming a romantic audience for the musicians. 

After a few minutes the caretaker passed us again on his return visit. He paused before us for a long, long moment— Then moved on again, muttering he was damn well not paid enough to sort all _that_ out.

As soon as he was gone, I heard movement ahead of us and risked a brief glance to confirm that the Count was indeed on the move again. I looked at Holmes significantly. He nodded and retrieved Billy and the three of us silently followed on. 

The Count lurched from side to side, still not fully in control of his new body. But he seemed to be certain of where he was heading to. And eventually he came to a halt in front of the Mazarine Steen figure. 

He stood contemplating her. And she was worth the attention. She truly was a beauty. More curves than the Serpentine. Chestnut hair. And that pale skin, and those wonderful pale eyes…

In the end the fault was entirely mine. Standing entranced, I was completely taken by surprise when Holmes poked me excitedly with that flaming parasol yet again. And even though I was surprised and, yes, annoyed too, I should not have shoved back, causing him to stumble and almost fall in his unfamiliar high heels. There was no chance of the Count not noticing that. 

He turned. He stared. And then he advanced upon us.

Holmes and I exchanged a glance. “Billy,” I said. “If you’d just find yourself another hiding place, dear child…?” And Holmes and I moved reluctantly to greet the Count. 

The fight began!

At least he was not armed, but death seemed to have only increased his strength. He had no difficulty fighting off Holmes and me simultaneously and throwing us to the ground. Whereupon he lurched back towards the Mazarine Steen.

I looked up and was horrified to see Billy standing in his path, determinedly brandishing a matador’s cape and sword at him—the sword clearly a mere imitation, flimsy and blunt.

The Count was already sneering and swung back a powerful arm ready to throw a punch. In my terror of what might happen to the boy, I completely forgot which name I should use.

_“Panik!_ For God’s sake, get out of his way!”

“Billy” looked over at me startled but did as he was told, dropping the cape and sword and running over to Holmes and me. As the two of us got back to our feet, Holmes regarded me with fear on his face. “Well, that’s done it. We’ve got more to worry about now than the Count.”

There was abruptly an odd moment of complete peace and silence. But then came a roaring and a pressure that gradually filled the whole room. I could see no presence but oh, I felt and heard him.

_“Who has Dared to summon Me?”_

I followed Holmes’s lead and kept quiet, my head bowed. But the Count spoke. “Who are you? What do you want?”

_“Who am I?”_ The voice seemed almost amused. _“My Name is **Pan**. And let Me see, you are… Count **Sylvius**. Count of the **Woods**.”_ The voice was definitely amused now. _“I think you will find that is My Dominion. You have been named for Me, and I am your Patron.”_

“No.” A hint of fear was finding its way into the Count’s voice. “You have no power over me.”

_“You know, I Believe I Do. And so... I think I’ll Claim you.”_

“No! You have no righ—!” The Count became rigid. But there was something horribly human in the way he froze this time. It spoke of pain and dread, and utter hopelessness. 

Then suddenly the waxwork was just a waxwork.

_“ **Panik** , I will collect You in just a few more days,”_ said the voice gently. 

It became somewhat sterner. 

_“ **Warlock Holmes** —take Better Care of My Child.”_

And abruptly the presence was gone too.

I nearly collapsed onto the floor with relief. However, “Billy” was beaming. “It was lovely to see Papa!”

“Yes…” I said weakly. “Absolutely splendid.” I tried to ignore the wax Holmes that had recently contained the unfortunate Count and turned my attention to the Mazarine Steen instead. “I wonder why he was so interested in her.”

“Oh! That’s why I was trying to get your attention before! I think I noticed something.” Holmes attempted to rummage in his skirts but without success. “Why on earth doesn’t this dress have pockets in it? You’d think demons of all beings would know I’d need a fully stocked pock—” He caught my expression and changed tack. “Would you by chance happen to have a match, John?”

Without comment I handed over a box of matches and Holmes thanked me. “Now I’m just going to light one of my fingers…”

I have to say my eyes did widen slightly at that but it turned out Holmes meant one of the fingers from the wax Holmes. He snapped it off, ripped a section off his petticoat to make an external wick and lit his makeshift candle. He held it up to Juffrouw Steen’s face. 

“What do you notice, Watson?”

I noticed it was a very pretty face. But not… Quite symmetrical? It took me a moment more to work it out, from the way the candle caught one eye well enough but made the other positively glisten and sparkle.

_“The Crown diamond!”_

Holmes smiled proudly. “The Count must have had an accomplice that worked here and was able to hide the jewel for him. Sylvius wouldn’t be running the risk of being caught with the diamond and nobody would ever dream it was here.”

I nodded slowly. “And we heard ourselves how little the people here are paid. It must have been easy to bribe someone. The original plan was probably for the stone to be transported back to Germany still in the waxwork. But the Count was trying to retrieve the diamond before news spread of his death and someone else claimed it!”

I pulled my penknife out of my pocket and carefully prised the diamond out of its socket. I cradled it in one hand, looking at it in wonder, Then I looked up at my companions and smiled at them.

“Well done, everyone! It’s been an excellent evening’s work.”

Holmes was regarding me cautiously. “We… are all locked in for the night though still? And if you don’t want me to use any more magic, well...”

I may have whimpered just a little. 

After a fairly uncomfortable night, the three of us managed to mingle with the first visitors the next morning and exit without attracting any significant attention to ourselves, even though Holmes and I were supporting the inert wax Holmes between us. Then it was just a short gallop back home to make urgent use of the gentlemen’s facilities, and have a leisurely and large breakfast. Even Holmes seemed to feel like an extra couple of slices of toast. Well, celebrations were definitely in order!

A change of clothes, and Holmes and I made our triumphant way to Scotland Yard to hand the jewel over to Lestrade, leaving him to give the edited version of how it was recovered.

And thus our part in the drama was over.

There was still Billy, as we were now resolutely back to calling him, to worry about of course. But just as things were getting back to normal, he informed us that his father was coming and he would soon be on his way. 

“Papa might let me pop back for the odd adventure though!” he told us with a big smile on his face.

I sincerely hoped so. He hadn’t even gone yet and I was already missing the little blighter. Holmes solemnly shook his hand and wished him well in his future endeavours. And then, I could not tell you how, young Billy was no longer with us. 

Holmes moped around, though I admired how he tried to engage himself with new projects. 

“What exactly do you think happened to the Count?” he asked me one morning. 

I shuddered. “I dread to think. Billy’s ‘papa’ doesn’t strike me as someone to cross. And anyway, there’s no way to find out now, is there?”

“There might be…” Holmes looked speculatively at the wax Holmes sitting slumped in his chair by the window.

The next day he showed me his handiwork. “I melted down the head of my waxwork and reformed it into cylinders. And I bought one of those new-fangled wax cylinder phonographs…”

He put one of the cylinders into place, wound up the phonograph and switched it on, and then put the needle to the wax.

Despite the ridiculousness of this whole procedure, I held my breath waiting to see what would happen.

For a long moment there was nothing but crackling, and then we were both startled to hear what sounded like whispering. It increased gradually in volume but I still could make no sense of it. “It’s just gobbledygook, Holmes.” I hesitated. “Or is it demonic language?”

Holmes was listening intently. “I don’t think so.”

I listened again too, and I suddenly had an idea. “Perhaps... try playing it backwards.”

Holmes looked at me bemused. But he switched off the phonograph, leaving the needle in place, and began rolling the cylinder manually in the other direction. The voice became clearer and louder and more familiar. And as Holmes picked up the pace, the words finally made sense.

_“ **Warlock Holmes** ,”_ announced Billy’s papa over and over again. _“It is really None of your Beeswax.”_


End file.
